


Poison & Wine

by roselew



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Future Fic, Jealous Castiel, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselew/pseuds/roselew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cas discovers jealousy with startling ferocity, and Dean comes to the conclusion that he has everything he wants right there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poison & Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Unimaginatively titled after the Civil Wars song of the same name.
> 
> This is nowhere near finished and I had no intention of completing it at all, but after determined opposition from a friend who insisted I uploaded what I'd done so far, here it is. 
> 
> Feedback is appreciated, even if it's not complete I hope you enjoy what I've done, even if I didn't <3

Castiel hadn't thought he'd been missing out on much as an angel. Of course, he'd known that humans, with their tenuous emotions and fragile bodes, felt more intensely and fully than even the most well-adjusted angel could. That much had been clear from the beginning: perplexing him with their sentimentality and their seemingly useless loyalty. It had been foreign; the only feeling of allegiance Castiel had experienced was toward his father, his brothers and sisters, and – on a lower, shallower level, the billions of humans on this expansive planet. It had been hard-wired into him; that devotion moulded into his very grace. He was born to love his family, the bulk of humanity, but not singly. The individuality of human love, their ability to love various others with varying degrees of intensity, stubborn and unyielding with their devotion, was what intrigued him the most.

 

It wasn't until he descended on humanity; his grace suppressed inside a feeble, dull vessel that he begun to understand. It began with the Winchesters; the brothers' irrevocable love for each other that was somewhat familiar. After all, Castiel loved his siblings, loved them like God wanted him to and, really, that wasn't much different from the Winchester brothers: trained to love each-other into unreasonable situations by a well-meaning father. Well, it only took several near-death experiences from either Dean or Sam for Castiel to realise that the brothers' love, while beautiful and unwavering, wasn't exactly effective as a survival mechanism – as Castiel assumed _any_ automatic desire to sacrifice oneself to preserve another wouldn't be.

 

Of course, he learnt quickly. Spending time with Dean Winchester who, for his many faults, loved as ceaselessly as Castiel thought possible, gave Castiel occasion to experience friendship at its purest. Even through his failures, his unfortunately frequent shortfalls, Dean never once seemed to lose faith in him; even Dean's anger was fuelled by care, his ire a result of disappointment, of wasted loyalty. Dean risked his own happiness every time he put hope in Castiel, and yet continued to do so. Castiel wouldn't hesitate to say that much of what he learned about human love, he learned from Dean Winchester.

 

Love came relatively easily: he'd had some level of experience with it before and adapting it to humanity was the simple case of moulding what he already possessed into a different shape, one better dealt for dealing with fondness for individuals. Before long, he found himself sometimes overwhelmed with it, so many layers of complexity compressed into one succinct emotion and he caught himself drowning in it, losing sight of what was right, what was rational, and dragging himself toward love-born carelessness instead. Ironically, perhaps, it was this Winchester brand of overprotective love that lost him a great amount from his celestial family, even if it won him the loyalty of his human companions. He supposed maybe his brothers weren't ready for that type of devotion yet.

 

Other emotions were harder, having had very little need for them, nor experience with handling them. Anger and joy were the easiest of them; explosive and insistent in their nature, they weren't difficult to accommodate. Sadness took longer; a handful of times where Castiel felt his throat tighten and his eyes sting, a heavy ball of _something_ unpleasant settling in his chest, before he realised that this... _distress_ was in fact misery. He didn't enjoy it, obviously. Nor did he enjoy seeing it in those he loved, and made a very clear attempt to avoid encountering it in any form. The emotions came slowly, irritation and comfort, disappointment, resentment, fear. Perhaps it was unfortunate that most of the negative emotions were encountered while with the Winchesters, sometimes caused by them, but the pleasant ones too, the feeling of home and acceptance, of being wanted by choice and not necessity, were given purely by Sam and Dean and Castiel could forgive all of their mistakes for giving that to him.

 

Even now, having spent just short of six years with his human charges, Castiel could encounter the occasional rogue emotion; surprising in the fact that he'd not felt it previously. Usually they were easy, just for the fact that he was almost familiar with the way humans dealt with their feelings, and it was easy to handle such minor disturbances. The last feeling that had been strong enough to surprise him had been lust. He remembered that moment with shocking clarity, pressed to Dean's motel bed and, to his credit, he only felt a moment or so of confusion when Dean had dipped his head to mouth at the line of his throat before desire slammed into him with enough force to make the breath leave his lungs, made him scrabble to grip at Dean's knees where they bracketed Castiel's hips. It had been a dazed, flooding few minutes, overflowing with sensation that he'd previously underestimated and Dean seemed to take pride in the fact that Castiel was half-incoherent for several minutes after his completion. It hadn't been his proudest moment, and Castiel mustered his strongest of glares whenever Dean mentioned it.

 

As it was now, having spent such a long time with the humans and learning to adapt to their behaviours, Castiel liked to think that he could behave in a way that was passably human. If he'd stood in a bar at the beginning of his tryst on earth, he would have undoubtedly attracted unwanted stares from those questioning why he was behaving so oddly. It took four trips to multiple bars, one lecture from Dean and a more understandable explanation from Sam for Castiel to understand that standing stiff and stock-still in the corner of the room wasn't the accepted behaviour when surrounded by strangers in a social setting such as that. He'd amended his behaviour, standing instead with Sam or Dean, depending on whomever was present and available. A drink held in-hand kept him from looking idle and, before long, it became automatic to do so, and Castiel even managed to enjoy himself. Though his tolerance for alcohol was higher than the Winchesters', their eventual inebriation led to an infectious, pliant joy that Castiel found easy to share with them.

 

On the quiet days they would all go out: when Sam didn't need to stay and research and Castiel could accompany them without fear of Dean wandering away and leaving him alone.

 

Dean moved with familiar ease through the thin crowds, shoving a beer bottle each into Sam and Castiel's chests, not making eye contact before he was glancing about, bringing his bottle to his lips. Dean was, clearly, _on the prowl_ , as the saying went. Castiel repressed an inward sigh and followed a drop of condensation as it tracked down the side of his own bottle. While he and Dean had shared a few occasions of intimacy, they were by no means 'exclusive', as Dean delicately put it. Castiel hadn't felt comfortable enough yet to dispute his friend and so tried not to let it rile him. He told himself repeatedly that Dean Winchester shouldn’t use him just to gratify his over-active physiological need for sex, but whenever an alcohol-pliant Dean pressed him against the bed or the wall or, once, the backseat of the impala, Castiel couldn't find himself rejecting Dean's advances. As unfair and selfish as Dean was by doing it – and Castiel thought Dean was perfectly aware of how wrong it was, it was also the only, rare occasions that Castiel felt close enough to the other man to think that Dean might be able to love him, and as pathetic as he felt for it, that was too much for him to give up for the sake of pride.

 

Dean's searching eyes didn't stay searching for long, and within five minutes of barely-focused chat, he'd disappeared into the crowds and Castiel tried not to scan for him, turning instead to Sam with a smile. Sam talked about work, mostly, before he got drunk enough to set his mind to other things. Castiel would nod along, occasionally comment when he felt he could, but the details of the hunts were usually left to the Winchesters, Castiel just helped with the more difficult cases. Sam told him about the vampires in Ohio, a married couple of ghosts in Tennessee. He provided gory details that Castiel could have lived without, and before long their bottles were empty and Sam was pressing money into his hand, slapping him on the shoulder as he sent him off for more drinks. Castiel nodded, smiled again, catching a final glance of Sam averting his gaze to a pretty young blonde a few metres away, before he was slipping through the gaps in the crowds, toward the bar. He kept an eye out for Dean on the way, examining every available-looking woman to see if they were partnered with a by-now slightly-drunk hunter.

 

He saw none, however, and shrugged lightly to himself. Maybe Dean had already partnered for the night, though, that would be impressively quick, even by Winchester standards. It was only at the bar, waiting for the barman's attention, that Castiel caught sight of him, backed against a far wall with a very definite invitation in his smile (definite, because Castiel had been on the receiving end of it exactly eight times). He realised why he hadn't been able to see him earlier: One, he was half-obstructed by shadow and crowds of strangers. Two, Castiel had been searching for him with entirely the wrong partner in mind. Because Dean was trapped against the wall by a very tall, very male partner. He had a crop of light hair and even from here, Castiel could see the knee he slipped between Dean's, the way his hands were curling into the wall either side of Dean's shoulders. Dean had smirked, tilted his head to nip at the stranger's jaw and _that was it._

 

Castiel had felt jealousy before. Of course he had. Soft twinges of envy throughout his years here. It had been of little conscience to him and had been easily ignored: there was nothing he desired so badly that he felt he must lust after it for longer than a few moments. No physical object was worth that much to him. With the exception, apparently, of Dean Winchester.

 

Castiel knew why this stung more than the myriad women Dean had been with, those were more of an annoyance, not worthy of Castiel's worries. Castiel had believed, apparently naively, that Dean hadn't wanted to pursue a relationship with him because of his vessel. Jimmy's body was very definitely male, and while Dean didn't seem to mind at all during their occasional sexual encounters, he'd mentioned multiple times that he was a 'ladies' man'. Castiel had resigned himself to the fact that Dean wasn't comfortable in romantic relationships with men, and only accepted Castiel because _technically,_ he wasn't male, he was just Castiel. This, however, was enough to crush that theory beneath the weight of his perceived rejection. It occurred to him that Dean wasn't intentionally trying to hurt him by behaving this way: after all, Castiel had never voiced, nor really alluded to his longing for a more stable relationship with Dean, but this... _betrayal_ , and Castiel's responding anger, his jealousy and possessiveness, was enough to put all rationality aside for the time being.

 

His fist uncurled where it had held Sam's money, dropping it, forgotten, onto the wooden bar-top. He was heading toward Dean just as the blond stranger was dropping his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to Dean's throat, eliciting a positively _filthy_ chuckle from the pinned hunter.

 

Castiel's presence was clearly unexpected, and apparently, unwanted from both parties. Dean stared at him as if he'd appeared stark naked and covered in honey...again.

 

“Cas?”

 

The stranger looked up from where he was sucking an impressive bruise into Dean's neck, catching Castiel where he stood a foot or so away. Castiel spared him barely a glance, fixing his face impassively as he spoke.

 

“Dean, I need to talk to you.”

 

Dean's glare hardened, and it was clear he'd like nothing better than for Castiel to go away now so he could get back to the task in hand. The stranger had leant away, pushing himself straight-armed away from the wall.

 

“Cas, _now_? Really? You need to talk _now_?”

 

Castiel couldn't prevent the narrowing of his eyes, nor the bite in his voice when it emerged around the angry restriction in his throat.

 

“It's important.”

 

The blond man pushed away from the wall entirely, eyes sliding, awkward, from Castiel to Dean. His voice was quiet, and Castiel reminded himself that his anger wasn't the fault of this man. Regardless, he wasn't unhappy to see him leave. The man wiped the back of his hand over his lips, muffling his voice.

 

“I think I'll just...” He stepped away, picked up a drink from a nearby table. “I'll see you around.” Castiel watched him leave, disappearing into the crowds before turning back to Dean. He still leant against the wall, tipping his head back against it in exasperation. Castiel could only focus on the obnoxious purple mark blossoming across Dean's throat. Dean's voice emerged drenched with annoyance, and it only fuelled Castiel's own frustration that Dean couldn't even pay enough attention to him to notice he was trying to make a point.

 

“Goddamnit, Cas,” He lifted his head, fixed Cas with his eyes still blown with desire. “This had better be fucking important.”

 

Castiel's eyes tensed, silent as he headed toward the door. He heard Dean sigh, and could imagine the way he'd sag melodramatically against the wall before following. It was cold outside, winter not yet bleeding into spring and so it was empty; the bar's tenants favouring the warmth inside and the hour too late for casual trips outside. A car passed as Dean let the door swing shut behind him, and Castiel faced him, with the intention of finally speaking his mind, the words moments away from emerging before Dean cut him off, arms crossed over his chest.

 

“What the hell, Cas?” Castiel blinked, half-shocked at the venom in Dean's voice. He'd prepared himself to be the one expressing their anger, not Dean. He curled his fingers into tense fists at his sides, levelling a glare at the taller man as he continued. “What could be so damn important that you need to bring it up now? I was busy, if you hadn't noticed.”

 

Castiel met the words with a wall of silence, refusing to let them hurt like he knew they were bound to. His gaze dropped from Dean's eyes, to his kiss-swollen lips, before falling to rest on that abhorrent mark above his clavicle. Emotion: the jealousy and anger and, dare he acknowledge it, possessiveness. How dare somebody mark Dean. How dare Dean allow himself to be claimed, let a stranger suck and bite his ownership into Dean's very _flesh_. Did he not think himself worth more than that stranger’s fleeting meeting tattooed into his skin?

 

His hand was rising before he could think to prevent it, settling at the base of Dean's throat, thumb resting along the line of his jaw. Dean's eyes fell to Castiel's extended arm, clearly preparing another torrent of words to argue Castiel's interruption, to question his actions. The words never left his mouth, however, as Castiel had, in a moment, returned them to their motel room, and without removing his hand where his palm was hiding the dark bruise, leant upward to smother Dean's lips with his own, feeling the other man's protesting sound against his mouth even as he began to respond to the kiss. Dean's arms dropped from where they'd been trapped, folded between their bodies, resting palms against Castiel's abdomen for only a couple of moments, before one was rising, sliding over his chest to shove him away.

 

“Cas!” He said, slightly breathlessly, tongue darting out against his lips. “What the hell, man?”

 

Castiel responded with a grunt, tinged with desperation. He wanted Dean to know, didn't want him to find solace in the body of another because he could have it here. He _did_ have it here and rejected it, rejected _him_. He dropped his own hands to mirror Dean's, pressed against his chest and he was forcing him backwards, stumbling over the old carpet until his knees hit the bed and he was dropping backward onto it, Castiel following him as he pressed him back onto the mattress. Dean's protests had apparently been more on principle than anything else, as after a moment he gave them up entirely, giving way to hunger, a tight curl of fingers at Castiel's sides.

 

Castiel broke the kiss, desperation still fuelling his movements as his lips ghosted slickly over the line of Dean's jaw, seeking the tender bruise resting in the hollow below his throat and laving his tongue there. If he couldn't remove it, couldn't take away the other man's hollow mark, he could cover it with one of his own, suck the poison out and fill Dean with something permanent instead. He scraped not-too gently with his teeth, fixing them hard over the skin and ignoring Dean's hiss, the convulsive tightening of his hands in his shirt. Dean's hands rose to palm the coat and jacket from Castiel's shoulders, letting them slip from the bed to be forgotten, he pulled the shirt-tails free, making Castiel twitch at the sensation of fabric over skin before he was stripping Dean of his shirt too, leaning back to press his mouth against the dip of Dean's collarbones, across to the smooth skin of his shoulder, ridged with the shape of Castiel's hand. He traced the scars with the tip of his tongue, hearing Dean sigh above him. If Dean would allow somebody to own him for a few hours for just the price of a temporary bruise, what was Castiel's prize for burning his mark into not only Dean's flesh, but his soul? He'd scrawled his name into him, carving himself in him as he tugged Dean from hell, that poor, broken half-demon essence that needed the purity of Castiel's mark to be human again. A bright flare of burning grace pressed into him and that was it. Dean Winchester was saved. Human. Fallible and broken and unpredictable, but human nonetheless.

 

Castiel groaned, bit at the joint between neck and shoulder and the words were pouring out of him, unstoppable and lost against his humans skin.

 

“You're mine, Dean.” A touch of tongue, pressed at the pulse below Dean's ear. “Why can't you see that?” He felt the complaint rumble in Dean's throat, about to become words and Castiel stopped them with his lips at the seam of Dean's mouth, tongue dipping inside to dart against Dean's for a second before he was speaking again, eyes closed tight against Dean's reaction. “I'm burned into you,” His hand moved to lay against the mirrored hand-print. “Not just here, but in your soul, Dean. Don't you feel that? Can't you _feel_ me?” His voice was pathetic and he knew it, despairing with what he was risking losing with this, what he needed. He had Dean: some small part of him, anyway. There was every chance that this information would be too much for Dean to even give him that. He touched a kiss to the corner of Dean's lips, drawing his knees up to bracket Dean's hips, Dean's voice emerging now that Castiel had paused, tone soft and maybe, Castiel imagined, a little bit lost.

 

“Cas, I-”

 

Cas cut him off, hushing him as he dropped his forehead to rest against Dean's, finally opening his eyes to meet deep green staring back at him.

 

“Please, Dean. If you're...if you won't have me, and keep me - _only_ me, then don't let me think it's a possibility.” Dean didn't respond, swallowed thickly and Castiel choked out a laugh, bitter on his tongue. “I'd always thought that maybe you would. Maybe, one day you might realise, but...” He shook his head, pressing his lips into a tight line. “I can't...keep doing this, Dean. I can't promise to keep faith in you if you're so determined to break it.”

 

Their gazes remained unbroken until Dean blinked, leaning upward to brush his lips against Castiel's, a barely-there touch that dragged along his lower lip. He swallowed hard, his voice emerging small, emphasized by the squeeze of his hands where they lay beneath Castiel's shirt.

 

“What do you want, Cas?” A touch of tongue against Castiel's upper lip which the angel's own automatically darted out to meet. “Tell me what you need from me.”

 

Castiel's voice was low, desperate not to break the silence as if that would make his admission any less discomfiting. He dropped his head to murmur the words against Dean's neck.

 

“You. All of you. Just for me.”

 

Dean's hands dropped from under his shirt, only to relocate, one hanging low in the dip of Castiel's waist, the other smoothing over his spine to rest, comforting, at the back of his neck.

 

“You can have me, Cas.”

 

The breath that Castiel choked out was his only response. It had been a while since he'd been overwhelmed like this, filling to bursting with emotion that he couldn't hold. He was grateful for Dean's hold on him, grounding him, stopping him from falling apart. Dean would let him. He would give himself over to Castiel entirely and that was all Castiel needed and more than he'd hoped for. Dean was muttering, face turned aside so that his breath stirred the hairs at the back of Castiel's neck.

 

“I didn't know, I'm sorry. I'll have you, Cas. I'll have you.”

 

And Castiel knew enough about Dean Winchester to know that was as close to an admission of love as he was likely to get from him.

 

The kiss he pressed to Dean's mouth next wasn't the gentle teasing kind they'd exchanged just minutes prior; he _surged_ up into Dean, cresting like a wave over him and _taking_ , because Dean had said he could, swallowing Dean's panting breaths and licking into his mouth, aware of Dean's hand that had crept down to his front, unbuttoning his shirt with quiet, practised ease. Dean nipped at Castiel's lower lip, taking hold and tugging to which Castiel responded in kind, running his tongue over the trapped flesh between his teeth until Dean's fingers twitched and tightened in his shirt, breath pausing lightly in his throat. Castiel released him with a smirk and Dean glared gently, stripping the shirt from Castiel's shoulders and letting his palms rest warmly against Castiel's chest.

 

Kissing had come naturally to Castiel, the first time. It was an almost automatic dance of tongue and teeth and it was decidedly satisfying to cover his tongue with Dean's taste and fill his lungs with Dean's breath. Dean always seemed to appreciate the results of such thorough kissing, running his thumb along Castiel's reddened lips before lunging, taking a pressing, insistent kiss of his own, nibbling and biting as he went.

 

It was an easy progression from kissing to sex: in whatever form it took given the situation.

 

Now, Dean's kisses fell from Cas's lips to mouth along his jaw, lick a languid line along the column of his throat, Castiel dropping his head backward over his shoulders to allow better access, letting his eyes slide shut. Dean's lips twitched in a smile as a low moan rumbled against his tongue where it pressed momentarily below Castiel's adamsapple.

 

Dean still seemed to think he needed a distraction to rid Castiel of his trousers: biting down on the skin over his collarbone as he dispatched the button and shoved them down Castiel's thighs, lifting a foot to urge them further as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to the angel's shoulder. Castiel shifted out of them, slipping off his shoes and socks as he went. Dean's hands fell automatically to his own jeans but Castiel slapped them away with a disapproving sound, leaning back to fix Dean with a glare as he worked the button and zipper free, tugging the waistband down Dean's hips, but not blessed with enough patience to move and allow their full removal.  


End file.
